Let's Go Home
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: One shot. Takes place after the kiss in the alleyway. Hard M.


You don't know where you're going to sleep that night. You're not sure you're welcome back at the flat, in the place that you'd started thinking of as home. Steven has barely spoken two words to you since you've returned from Ireland, and when he had talked his words had spilled out with venom, acidic.

You'd wanted to spark a reaction in him.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come back." You'd half hoped that he'd turn around to you with pleading eyes.

"Don't be daft. I need you here, don't I? I need you."

Instead he hadn't looked at you, had faced the computer game that he was playing.

"Yeah, maybe you shouldn't," he'd said, with conviction that it hurt to hear.

You loved him like that, bottom lip jutting out, his Mancunian accent even more pronounced when he was sulking. You could watch him all day, would pay to have front row tickets to one of his arguments, watch Steven handle someone with a quick quip or the mouthiness that had always come so naturally to him. But it was different when it was _you_, when he could hardly bear to be in the same room as you.

You know you should have called while you'd been away. At the very least sent him a text asking how he was. But it had stayed in your mind, Steven's face after Amy had taken the kids. The speed at which he'd run out of the flat when you'd let him go, trying to chase them, to trade you for them. The idea that he blamed you for it all weighed heavily on your shoulders, and it became easier to ignore him altogether while you were away.

It's dark out as you walk the streets, debating whether to go back to Cheryl's. If she finds out that you and Steven have fallen out and you've stayed at a hotel she'll start asking questions, demanding why you didn't come to her first. You can't tell that the thought of staying under the same roof as Seamus again makes your skin crawl. You mean to go and knock on her door at that moment, but your feet don't seem to have the same idea, and you're walking down the alleyway without even knowing where you're going.

You hear someone walking the other way, wonder if it's Kevin and he doesn't know when to quit. You'd hoped that you were clear when you told him that if he makes another dig at Steven again then he's dead. You'd been embarrassed for the kid, had known this was only going to go one way when he'd taken off his soaking wet t-shirt in front of you. Time was when you would have taken advantage, had him pressed against the desk within an instant, fucked him and ensured that Steven would never forgive you, because screwing everything up is like a bad habit that you can't quit.

Except it's changed now. You don't know if it's the situation or if it's you, that _you've_ changed, and you've got something more important to hold onto. It's impossible to imagine ever wanting anyone else when you have Steven, most perfect person you've ever known, contours of soft golden skin, a man who trusts you with his life, although God knows you don't deserve it.

You'd felt murderous when Kevin had said you could better. The kid didn't understand the blasphemous things coming from his own mouth, and you'd wanted to slam his head against the desk, beat some sense into him, because you couldn't do better than Steven. No one could. Hearing anyone say anything bad about him physically hurt you, felt like it was tearing you into shreds, made your blood flow hot in your skin, made you ache to use your fists to make it stop.

The man in the alleyway is the same height as Kevin, has the same skinny build. But your face softens the moment you make the distinction, the moment you realise it's Steven.

You wait for him to speak, because he holds all the cards here, he makes the rules on this one. If he wants you to move out then you will, because you're done forcing him into things, done with the manipulation and games.

You just stare at him, wait for him to do something, _anything_.

Suddenly, so fast that you don't have time to properly react, to even be surprised, he's reaching out, is pulling you towards him for a kiss. It's the first time you've kissed him in days, and you've been gasping for it, had laid awake at night and imagined his lips all over you, had missed him so much that you wondered how you'd ever got through prison without him. You couldn't have, could you? How could you have survived for all those months, with no certainty of him being there for you on the other side? You wonder how you hadn't died.

When he pulls away his hands come off from around you gradually, and even in the coldness of the night they're warm, as they always seem to be. You don't say anything for a moment, don't even open your eyes, just want to prolong it for that few seconds longer. He's extraordinary, and even with distance between you you hadn't forgotten that, the way he makes you feel things that no one else ever has, that no one else ever can.

His kiss feels like forgiveness, and your relief is intense, had imagined everything slipping away.

When you look at him his face is soft, with the hint of a smile that's beautiful to see.

"That was for the kids presents," he says, more warmly than he's spoken to you all day. The presents that you'd got them while you were away, because they're always in your head, just like he is.

"I don't want you to move out Brendan, right? I want you and the kids. We can talk to Amy, just sort something out."

You just stare at him, amazed. Amazed by how this boy, this _man_ has given you so many chances. How he's one of the only people in your life whose never given up on you, and every time you think you've lost him he's still there, still willing to fight for you. You always think that you can't love him any more than you already do, and then he goes and proves you wrong.

"Say something then." He's got a hint of doubt in his voice now, doubt like he thinks you're going to push him away. Not a fucking chance.

"Let's go home, Steven."

He smiles, looks as relieved as you feel, and leads the way. You look at him once more before following him, feel like you're just appreciating all that he is, all that he gives you.

It's quiet in the village, but it doesn't feel so empty now that he's with you. He talks in that aimless way he does, a mile a minute like he's just been waiting for this, like he was holding his tongue the whole time he was giving you the cold shoulder in the morning. You feel peaceful. He calms you down when he's talking, as though the sound of his voice is enough to reduce your churning, anxious mind into something still, settled.

"I can't wait to send Leah and Lucas their presents." He smiles at you, and it's not enough to hide the pain that he's feeling about them not being here, but it's less acute now, isn't overwhelming you both so that everything is reduced to blame, to hearing him crying at night, and you being unable to stop his tears.

You're going to make sure the kids come home, don't have a definite plan in your mind yet, but you're not going to stop until Steven gets to see them again. You hadn't known how to be around them at first, had felt like you were intruding on their family set up, had felt like they'd rather be with Douglas than with you. But now they're _your_ family, more of a family then you've ever had. Your boy wants them back, and you'd do anything for him.

"Don't you want to know what your present is?" You ask, low.

"I didn't see anything for me." He looks at you, gets it then, lets out that loud booming laugh of his that sounds like a donkey. "Ohhhhhhh," he says, long, drawn out. Suggestive. "Give me more of a clue."

He's pretending to be innocent now and you decide to play along, because he's delicious like this, acting coy when he's anything but, long eyelashes all but fluttering at you.

"It's big," you say, completely seriously.

"How big?" He raises his eyebrows, pink of his tongue poking out from between his lips.

You hold your hands out to show him just how big, and he actually _giggles_.

"That looks dead impressive, that," he says, nodding. "Does it have a nice bow around it and all?"

"A big red one, Steven. Extra shiny."

He laughs and reaches for your hand, and you still for a moment on the pavement, quickly begin walking again before he notices anything. You think of shrugging him off, because you haven't held anyones hand properly in years, not since you were a kid, and even then it was just with your little sister.

Steven's tried before, seems to have some kind of fetish for it, and his face is still in your mind after the night you'd first given him a blowjob in the cellar, when the next day he'd stroked a finger down your hand, would probably have taken it and swung it back and forth like you were two teenagers in love if you'd let him. You remember his uncertainty when you'd pulled away from him, the way his smile had faded.

You remember in Dublin when he'd asked you, full of hope, _"You can hold my hand if you want." _You'd wanted to, God you'd wanted to, but he was watching, wasn't he? Seamus was always watching, always there.

He's still here now, always in your brain and your body, can never seem to get him out however much you want to. He'd call you queer for this, poof, call you Brenda, hatred and disgust rolling off his tongue. But you'll never be enough for him. Even if you stayed away from Steven, even if you'd stayed with Eileen, you'd still never be enough.

And you want to hold the boy's hand.

It's easier like this, in the dark. You're less afraid, and Steven's grip on you is strong and firm, his thumb rubbing over your skin. He gives you strength, the kind you didn't know you were capable of getting from another person, and he's still talking, not drawing attention to how unusual this is, how you're doing something with another man that you never imagined you'd do.

With him you sometimes forget that you're a freak.

When you reach the flat Steven lets your hand go to reach for his keys, and you're almost disappointed.

It's difficult to get used to, the quietness at home now. The kids toys are still scattered around the flat, and you don't want to suggest moving them. You sense that it's important to Steven to still keep them and see them everyday, that it's some kind of confirmation that they were here, and they'll be here again.

The first time you ever saw this place you'd considered it a dump, had looked at the peeling wallpaper and the dirty dishes that seemed to constantly be in the sink, judgement in your eyes. You only ever went here to fuck Steven, because you didn't have to worry about Cheryl walking in on you, although it became more problematic as time went on, with Amy and Rae to deal with. You'd never have believed that you'd be living here, that you'd have a strange kind of fondness for the place.

There are things that could be improved, maybe a fresh coat of paint on the walls, some new furniture, but you'd be happy if nothing ever changed. You like it exactly the way it is, and you like being here, feel comforted the moment you walk through the door. It's where you slept with Steven for the first time, and it seems fitting that you both ended up here together.

Steven puts the lights on around you. "You hungry?"

"Starving." With a half naked Kevin to reject and push onto the desk, you hadn't had time to eat.

"Let me make something for you."

You feel like your mouth's already beginning to water. Steven makes the best food you've ever had, knows exactly what you like.

"Make it quick though. I have plans for you." You give his arse a slap, satisfied by the way he jumps slightly in surprise, lets out a yelp, a _"Brendan!"_ and a smile, his eyes sparkling.

You sit on the sofa, propping your feet up on the table. The television's on in the background but you're barely watching it, can't take your eyes off Steven's movements in the kitchen. He's got the radio on, some pop crap that you can't stand but he seems to love, and he's dancing along, singing too, tuneless but charming, shaking his body and arse along to the beat.

He's not the best dancer in the world, may in fact be one of the worst, but there's joy in it, the complete freedom with which he moves, doesn't care who's looking at him. He catches you watching him and gives his arse a wiggle in your direction, and you laugh at him, throw a cushion his way which he ducks to avoid.

He must be as eager as you are to touch him, because the dinner's ready in less than ten minutes. He's made pasta, spoons it onto two large plates, covers it with sauce and cheese, and you don't know what looks better, the food or Steven. You settle for having both, consume the pasta greedily and sit with Steven's legs resting in your lap, watching tv together.

"How's the food?" He asks, getting sauce on his chin which you scoop up with your finger and lick.

"Amazing," you say truthfully. Only Steven could make a jar of pasta sauce somehow taste homemade.

He smiles happily, shifts on the sofa so that he's closer to you, leaning his head against your shoulder.

You're already becoming distracted. Restless. Your plate's almost empty and he's spread out before you. It's been days since you slept with him, and you're aware that you could lay him down right here and now, fuck him on the sofa without worrying that the kids are going to see you. At his age he'll barely need to digest, never a time when he's not up for it, and you know he'll let you.

You want to make your intentions clear, so when he's finished with his dinner you take it out of his hands, put it alongside yours on the table. You switch the television off, don't want it to drown out the sounds that you know will spill from his mouth, the force of them always encouraging you to be more open, to give him as much as he gives you.

You push him downwards onto the sofa, then crawl over to him until you're straddling him.

"Aren't you too full after that, old man?" He says, amusement covering his expression.

Steven's been making these little digs lately, has started telling you that you'll be needing reading glasses soon, that he thinks he can spot your first grey hair coming on, the little git. He's talked about how when you're in your seventies he'll still seem relatively young in comparison.

You've always rolled your eyes at him like you hate his teasing, but it makes you feel warm inside, the idea that he thinks about your future together, that he wants this to have no end. His words when you'd argued weeks ago had stayed fresh in your mind, _"In a few months, if this is still working." _Like he wasn't sure if this was forever, didn't have the same certainty that you had that there was no one else.

"Shut up," you say, deciding that Steven deserves to be bitten for being so damn cheeky. Except he has no qualms about being rough, and you know that this will be more of a reward than a punishment.

You pull his jumper and t-shirt off from over his head, biting down on the bare skin of his stomach before he has time to pull away. He wriggles and squirms in your arms, because Steven's _constantly_ moving, constantly animated and alive, never more so than when you're preparing to fuck him, building up that sweet torture until he begs for it.

You kiss everywhere that you can get access to, lips trailing from his stomach to his belly button to his stiff pink nipples. He's still not close enough to you, never close enough, and you pull him roughly further downwards. Steven gives you that look of his, fucking sexy, like he wants you to ruin him, and you're going to, going to fuck him in every area of the house, bedroom and bathroom and kitchen and right here, right now, couldn't move even if you wanted to, the need to be inside him again overruling all else.

"Did you miss me?" You ask, tongue swirling against Steven's nipple. You want to know if he missed you being here, if he missed fucking you, if he missed waking up beside you, his body curled around in the early hours.

"Yeah." He strokes your hair, the action even more tender in comparison to what you're doing to him. "I missed you. I missed...this."

Of course he did, always so fucking horny, is half hard already just from your tongue swiping across his chest.

"Mmmm," you hum, feels like you're reacquainting yourself with the taste of something that you've been craving. "What did you do while I was away?"

Steven helps you out of your shirt, runs his hands over the hair on your chest, looks at you in amazement like he's forgotten what your body looked like. You can't help but feel a sense of pride, see yourself the way that Steven sees you, like you're actually worth something.

"I was at the deli most of the time. Just kept busy with that, kept the flat clean -"

"No." You laugh against his skin. He's mistaken you. "I mean what did you _do_. To yourself."

You can't see his face, but you can picture the confusion there. You love it when he gets like that, blinks those long Bambi lashes of his, furrows his brow, desperately trying to work out your meaning.

You decide to help him out.

"There's no way you didn't do _something_." Your mouth is lower now, just above his treasure trail, your hands undoing the fastening of his trousers. "Boy like you. You wouldn't have lasted a day."

You know him, know how he loves getting fucked, never seen someone so happy to have a cock up their arse in their life, the way Steven rolls his hips and likes to settle his legs around your shoulders, pull you closer and encourage you to fuck him harder by putting his hands on your arse, leaving red marks there.

Steven wriggles out of his trousers, helps you to get them off. You throw them on the floor, because he's not going to be needing them for the rest of the night. His cock's straining to get out of his boxers, and you lean on your elbows as you suck the material of his underwear, wetting the area thoroughly, staring up at him as he watches you, transfixed.

"How many times did you get yourself off?" You know it's not a question of whether he did. _Of course _he fucking did.

He understands your meaning now. "Every night."

Amazing how the coyness goes away in an instant. He was like this even in the beginning, hadn't been with a man before you but he still wasn't ashamed, seemed proud of what he wanted, who he was.

"Oh yeah?" He's gently guiding your head down further and you give him what he wants, start lapping at his cock. "Tell me."

You want to know, want to know every dirty little thing he did to himself while you were gone, could come from that alone.

"I thought of you," he breathes, but it's not enough.

"What was I doing?"

You lean back, pull his underwear off. As much as teasing Steven is one of your favourite pastimes, it's been a week and you need to suck his cock again.

"I was on top of you."

Of course. Steven loves riding you, loves it when you abdicate control and he can set the pace, determine how fast he's going, makes sure that your dick hits him in that same spot again and again.

"Then when I came you turned me over onto my back."

He knows you like coming when you're on top of him, to be as close to him as possible. His face is what pushes you over the edge, what makes you lose yourself, seeing the pure pleasure that he can never hide.

"Go on."

"You really want to know?"

One of the only things that kept you going while you were away was imagining him in your head, picturing the things that he was doing to himself. In the middle of the night you'd come spilling into your hand, had wondered if he'd been doing exactly the same, and however stupid it seemed it made you feel connected to him.

"Yes" you say firmly, no room for doubt.

"I fingered myself when I was thinking about it."

You moan against his pubic hair, dampening it with your tongue.

"Tried to do it like you do it."

Jesus. You lick down Steven's shaft, over the head of his cock. Your hands are on his stomach, and you can feel him rising off the sofa, only your hold keeping him from arching off completely.

"Did you watch the video?"

The CCTV footage from two years ago, that you'd found when you'd been alone in the office one night, had been going through old tapes, had become wide eyed and slack jawed when you'd seen yourself fucking Steven against the wall, his back hitting against it with every thrust, his legs hoisted around your waist.

You'd barely recognised yourself, because you'd never seen _that_ before, and living it was different than watching it from a distance. You'd watched as your arse had pounded into him ferociously, and you'd wondered how on earth the lad hadn't snapped in two. He'd been even skinnier back then, and more boyish with his floppy hair which you loved to brush away from his eyes. You remembered how Steven had stroked his back afterwards, a satisfied smile on his face, had known that those marks would be with him for days.

You could almost forget how Rae and Anne had found you afterwards, how everything had gone pear shaped, how it was the beginning of losing Steven, how the next time you'd sleep with him would be after you kissed him in front of everyone at Chez Chez, and afterwards you'd taken him to bed, and punched him until you didn't think you'd ever be able to stop.

When you were watching the footage you could believe that that's the way it had always been, just you and him alone together, could even dream up a world where everything had been different afterwards, where he still looked at you like he used to, with a childlike awe rather than disgust.

You'd watched the footage while Steven had been with Noah, knew that Steven would accuse you of invading his privacy if he found out about it, but you were without him then, couldn't seem to get a handle on this thing and get him back where he belonged beside you, and the nameless men you slept with during that time couldn't do for you what Steven did.

"Maybe," he says from above you, reaching for his dick and guiding it to you. He doesn't force it into your mouth, just drags it across your lips like he wants to make you work for it. This game of his is getting to you, makes you abandon this slow teasing of yours, and you grab his cock by the base, put it in your mouth and taste him.

You're not the type who needs to come up for air. You've been doing this for long enough that you're more experienced than that, but you want to prolong this thing, make him talk about exactly what he did to himself while you were gone. You switch between taking him down your mouth so that you can feel the head of his cock hitting your throat, and laying kisses on the tip of his dick while murmuring to him, low, intimate.

"Did you finger yourself while watching us together?" You're struggling to control your voice.

"Mmmm." He lets out a satisfied sigh as you suck him again. "Watched you fuck me."

You'd been gasping for him that night, hadn't slept with him in weeks, had promised Amy that you'd stay away from him. You'd _had_ to, because Steven was going to be a father, and that meant something, meant that he had responsibilities now, had to be there for Rae and the kid. Only you'd underestimated the pull that he had on you, and he'd come to you in the office, _"you want me as much as I want you",_ and fucking hell, how were you ever meant to say no to that, to not give him what he wanted?

The sex you'd had had been rushed, frantic, rough. Thank God music had been playing loudly in the club, otherwise you'd have been screwed, would have been discovered even earlier than you were. Steven was so loud you'd had to get him to bite into your shoulder to drown out the noises. You'd forgotten how much you'd missed it, pummeling into his tight heat, and he _was_ so tight, hadn't had his hole loosened by you in too long, and it almost felt like the first time again. Except he was more experienced now, more sure of himself, knew exactly what he wanted, how good this could feel.

"Yeah?" You suck slowly on his sensitive head, licking at the underside. "I'm surprised the neighbours didn't hear you." You chuckle, because God knows Steven's the loudest man you've ever fucked, most responsive too. The image of him clawing at the bedsheets, jerking himself off and putting his long fingers in his hole is making you want to forego foreplay and be inside him now.

Steven kicks your arse with the sole of his foot, but you'd bet if you looked at him right now he'd be smiling. You can feel it.

You're going to have to get the boy something more next time, something to _really_ sort him out. You've got a lifetime of making up to do with your kids and he needs to stay here, look after his business. A man like Steven's not going to be satisfied using his fingers for much longer. He'll want something bigger. The thought is like a spark in your mind, lights it up and creates a thousand images of him on the bed, making himself come.

"Come here." You don't know what you're asking, because he's already as close to you as he can possibly be. But you constantly want more, and you move up and kiss him, so hard that you're surprised you don't draw blood.

"I want to _see_ you," he demands, voice sounding like a mere breath.

You know exactly what he wants, and you stand up and take off your trousers, make it into a slow kind of strip tease, revealing more skin inch by inch. His eyes go lower as more is revealed to him, until his gaze settles around your cock, free from the confines of your underwear now.

His eyes travel from your face to your dick, doesn't seem to know what to settle on. He's poised, waiting to see what you'll do next. You haven't completely decided yourself yet, because the whole flat's yours, and you can enjoy him on every surface now. There's almost _too_ much choice.

"Follow me," you say, and you walk down the hall, can hear his feet padding on the carpet behind you.

You feel anticipation in your chest, know that neither of you is going to get much sleep that night. There are more important things to do.

You push the door to the bathroom open, start running the shower. You turn round to face Steven, and he's a fucking sight, leaning against the door with his cock standing up, thick and proud. He's not even trying to cover it, is smiling at you like you're his sun and oxygen and whole entire world. The amount of trust and love is overwhelming.

You wait till the water's turned warm and then get into the shower, running your hair under the trickling spray. He steps in beside you, and it's a tight squeeze, not truly built for two people, but it works in your favour. Every time you move you can feel his body brushing against yours, can feel the masculinity of his legs covered with dark hair against your own.

He wets his hair and shakes it out like he's a puppy, and you laugh at his joy. You kiss him again, just because you want to, just because you can, and his lips are impossibly soft, the lightest hint of stubble rubbing against your mouth. He gets a mouthful of your moustache like he always does, seems to love the feeling of it all over him, and his hands are clawing down your back, along your hips.

He can't seem to decide what he wants, doesn't know whether he wants to let you use his sweet body to your will, lean back against the tiles and let you destroy him, or whether to be all over you, grabbing you with his strong hands, making you scream.

He seems to settle for one at last, pushes you so that your face is pressed against the shower door, your back to him. He kisses down your spine, licks the water off with his talented tongue, his hands trailing down your arse.

You're losing control now, wonder if you ever had it to begin with with this boy, moan _"Steven", _a demand for him to give you _something_ before you burst in frustration here.

You feel warm air in between your arse cheeks, his hands holding them apart. He's blowing into your hole, massaging the skin of your arse in soothing circles. You rub your cock against the shower door, craving the friction that it brings.

"Please." You feel faintly embarrassed. Begging's still not a comfortable state for you, probably never will be, but when you're with Steven you know he'll never twist it, never take advantage, never betray you.

"So perfect," he says in awe, sounds like it's more to himself than to you.

He tongues your cheeks, gets closer and closer to where you want him, so tantalising near. You try to retain some semblance of patience but it's not fucking easy, and you find yourself pushing your arse back towards him, encouraging him to get to that spot of yours that makes you feel like a million nerve endings are exploding, on fire.

His tongue lightly presses against your entrance, just the slow rub of it, and your hand's in your mouth, biting against your knuckles for some relief.

Steven's making darting little movements now, little flickers of his tongue on your hole, slowly easing the resistance of the muscle.

"You taste so fucking good," he says, but you don't want to hear it, because it causes him to break away from what he's doing, and Jesus, you need him pushing that tongue of his inside you.

You're pushing your arse towards him shamelessly now, and he understands, eases the tip of his tongue into you, coils it inside and gets it as deep as possible. The water's still running it, cascading down his back, and it feels like you're in a sauna now, too hot, too intense, and you're sweating, beads of perspiration on your forehead.

You love this man, you really fucking love him, love his heart and love what he does to you, want to hold him close and let him know, if not in words then in your actions, because that's all you've got, that's all you've really ever had. Words and declarations don't come naturally to you, but you pray that Steven knows how he's the most important thing in your life, can't live a single day without him.

He loosens you up so well, feels like he could slip his dick into you effortlessly now, but you don't feel like that tonight, and neither does he, every movement of his showing how he's dying to be fucked.

You sense that you could do it right here and now, could lie him down on the tiles and fuck him with water running over you like you've done before, but you fancy a change of scenery. You want to be somewhere where you can spread out more, where you can enjoy him properly, because he deserves to be worshipped.

You turn round to face him before you come, and his mouth's still open, looks fucking filthy like this, like he's ready to get on his knees and do anything you ask of him. You kiss him, open mouths and hands in wet hair, tasting yourself on his tongue, your hand stroking his cock.

It's his turn to beg.

"Please, Brendan," he whispers against your lips. "Please. I can't stand this."

He can't stand the prolonging, the fact that you've still not got your dick in his arse.

"You want me to fuck you?" You want to hear him say it.

"Yes." He looks desperate for it, high on some kind of drug, breath shallow and pulse flittering under your hand.

You kiss him, hoist him up so that his legs are wrapped around your waist. He's a fraction heavier than he used to be, but still light as a feather in your arms, and you easily open the shower door as he clings onto you, maneuvering the two of you out of the bathroom.

You're both dripping wet, and you don't bother to grab a towel, just walk down the hallway with droplets of water falling against the floor.

Steven surprises you by suddenly trying to move out from under your hold, and you tumble to the floor, taking the weight of the fall so he doesn't hurt himself.

"Jesus Steven, are you trying to break my back?"

"I can't wait," he says, his lips on yours, and in one swift movement he has his legs around your neck, giving you the perfect access to his hole. It's exactly what he wants, and he's grabbing at your cock, guiding it towards his entrance.

He whines in disappointment when you brush him off and get to your feet.

"No." You're not going to fuck him on the carpet, not now, not for this first time. You know how he gets post orgasm, know that he often likes to fall asleep in your arms, and he'll get cold here against the hard floor.

You take his hand in yours, lift him up and all but push him towards down the hallway. You're going to fuck him in your bed, _then_ you'll fuck him on the floor.

You don't even have to close the bedroom door now. You keep it open, knowing that it'll make it easier later on, when you're ready to go again.

Steven climbs over to the bed and you wait to see what position he'll choose. He settles on his back. If _that's_ how he wants it then that's what you'll do, so fucking desperate for it that your hands shake when you grab the bottom of lube from the drawer. You nearly grab the packet of condoms beside it when you remember that you don't need them anymore.

"I love you," he says out of the blue, but then again it's not, because you feel it every second of the day, and you hope that he feels it too.

"I love you too." It feels strange that you ever struggled to say it once. You don't know what you were so scared of. It feels _good_ to say it, especially when you're faced with Steven's face lighting up with happiness.

You open the cap of the lube. Steven positions himself so that the soles of his feet are against your chest, his pink, tight hole in your eye line. His flexibility never fails to amaze you, and you stroke down his legs and thighs, a wordless appreciation.

You squirt the lube onto your hand and massage it in, then cover his dick with it. It's not necessary, he's not going to fuck _you_, but he loves the feel of it, the wetness and the slip slide. It makes him nibble on his lip, bite down, blink rapidly.

You keep your eyes on him the entire time, most desirable sight you've ever seen. His lips are parted, a half smile on his face, and he's so tense, so completely ready for your cock to fill him.

You want to make this good for him, so good that it'll make the time you were parted seem even more painful. When your hands move towards his hole he closes his eyes, braces himself.

"Do you know how much I thought about this while I was away?"

"Every night?" He says, flashes you a cheeky smile.

"Every night."

You rub your finger against his hole, gradually move it until it enters him deeply, then slowly begin to fuck him with it, moving back and forth inside him. Your cock feels jealous of your finger, and you won't be able to keep this up much longer.

You're quick to add a second one in, and he shouts out, forms words which you can't even begin to properly understand, but you still know the meaning, know how badly he wants this.

"I'm going to come," he says, but he won't, he can last longer than he thinks. You've tested this theory enough times, stroked his cock, that slow back and forth for what's seemed like hours, and he's still held off, right till the end when he spills into your hand, shouts like his orgasm's being violently ripped out of him.

You remove your fingers, and the sensation is delicious, that wet and soft feeling of inner tissue against you. Steven moans, sounds like he's mourning the contact, but he doesn't tell you not to stop, knows what's coming instead, that it's something better.

You spread lube onto your cock, although at this point you think it doesn't truly matter, that he's prepared and wet enough already. He's so beautifully used to you filling him completely that it doesn't even cause him to wince anymore.

"Look at you, Steven." You wish he could see himself. "So fucking up for it, dying for it."

He doesn't even argue against it, knows that he is, and he's using it to push you over the edge, to encourage you to fuck him now.

You want to taste his honey skin one more time before you enter him. You start from his belly button and work your way up with your tongue, swirling over the tiny moles that pepper his body that you've come to know so well. You end on his lips, lick over them and then kiss him, a mash of tongues together.

He settles his legs around you, eyes so intensely on yours that you _can't_ look away, and begin to enter him. You go slowly, wanting to savour this. You're still kissing him, easing any burn that he might be feeling, although his face looks free, like he's in a blissful state that you've created for him.

You thrust into him harder when you sense that he wants it, so hard that you're moving up in the bed, and it's squeaking loudly with every movement. You really need to suggest that you buy a new one, but for now you don't care. It's proof of what you're doing to him, the power of you two together.

Steven's digging his hands into your back, unrelenting and swearing at every thrust, every time you plunge your cock further inside him. He looks like an animal, looks like he's left his human form behind and he's something else entirely. Everything's so raw and heightened, and if someone interrupted this right now you think you'd kill them, because no one is stopping you from being like this with him.

The pace is merciless, and he's calling your name out, almost sounds like he's in pain but you know he's not, you know he's loving this, and whenever you try and slow down he grabs at your arse, cries out _"don't"_ like he couldn't fucking bear it.

He's gorgeous like this, spread out, lying back while you fuck him, is taking everything you give him. You know how much he loves being in control, but he loves being shown who's boss too, acts like being submissive turns him on.

You want to see him on top of you though, suddenly get a desperate need for it. You roll him over quickly, and he pants over your body, is flushed and fighting for breath.

You look up at him expectantly and he barely pauses before sliding your cock into him again, steadies himself with his hands on your chest and then begins to roll his hips, moves up and down on you.

His head's thrown back, his long and golden neck on display, and his hands are trailing down you, across your nipples and clawing at your hips.

"I want to come."

"Wait," you tell him, because you're not quite there yet.

He stares down at you with wide eyes. "I need to."

"Faster," you say, and he obeys, starts riding you deeper, harder, his chest turning even more red.

He's getting you so close, so fucking close, feels like you're on a cliff and you're ready to jump off. His cock looks like it's going to burst. You're not going to have to touch him, he's going to come from this alone, is wound up so tightly.

"Come," you growl, and he does, he spills onto his stomach and yours, seems to go on forever, thick salty come, the wetness covering you.

He's shouting, continues to ride you until you groan loudly and come inside him, the release of it flooding through you.

Steven stays in your arms as you both come down, leans forward with you still inside him, getting his breath back against your skin. You stroke up and down his back, don't know what to do with all these feelings you have for him, but kissing against his jaw is a good start, just a small way of showing him how much he means to you.

"Fucking hell." It shows that you've been away from him for a week. That was the most intense sex you've had in a while, and you want your body to start working once more, to be able to do the whole thing all over again.

You know Steven. He's already ready, already sucking against your neck, so fucking horny.

It would be rude to refuse.

"I'm going to fuck you on that carpet," you tell him, and despite his exhaustion he jumps up suddenly from against your chest, takes your dick out of him and moves from the bed.

He grins at you.

"Come on then," a challenge in his eyes.

He walks out of the door, leaving a parting shot of his smooth, pert arse, and you feel your cock already stirring.

You laugh at all that he is, that he's all yours and no one's going to take him away, and you go and join him.


End file.
